I see you laying there flat on your back,
Your limbs splayed out against a metal slab.
Unclothed, exposed, cold skin and muscles slack,
Hands poke and pull and nip and tuck and grab.
Your innards are removed and in their place,
Some cruel heart replaces them with fluff.
With brush in hand they paint your pallid face,
I look away and groan, “Please stop! Enough!”
My wife now rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
“This kitchen is not big enough for two!”
I’m sent away to wait alone in bed,
Then later have to watch your corpse be chewed.
I wish we had not raised you as a pet,
It greys this year’s Thanksgiving with regret…
© Rachel Svendsen 2014